


John's Adventures in Cooking

by Nemesis (ThetaSigma), ThetaSigma



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 13:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6375874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/Nemesis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/ThetaSigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tries making something for Fin. It doesn't turn out quite as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John's Adventures in Cooking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sidewinder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/gifts).



> Yet another plotbunny from [sidewinder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder)

John took a long drink from the bottle and set it down, then turned his attention back to the cookbook.

“You sure you should be cookin’ and drinkin’ at the same time?” Fin asked, snagging the bottle from John and taking a deep drink himself.

“Shush,” John said. “Cooking isn’t hard. Certainly something you can do with a bit of alcohol in you.”

Fin rolled his eyes. To be fair, John wasn’t a _bad_ cook, the rare times John did cook, which Fin did not encourage, thank you very much. John liked to try complex recipes and every single ingredient had to be scrutinized for its environmental, economical, geopolitical, and who knows what else impact. It might have been tolerable if John picked recipes that featured maybe three ingredients, as Fin could listen for that long, but John’s recipes seemed to feature at least a dozen, if he included the spices, and John was picky as fuck on every single ingredient.

So Fin didn’t ever encourage John to cook, no matter how well the dishes turned out. They usually did, but the heaping dish of conspiracy theories that came along with it Fin could do without. 

John squinted at the cookbook and stirred the pot while he read.

“What are you making, babe?” Fin asked.

John considered that. “Fuck, what _am_ I making?”

Fin gave him a long look. “I’m taking the whiskey away now, babe.”

“Nooo, give it back,” John whined, reaching for it. 

“Not until you figure out what the fuck you’re making. I’d prefer you know throughout the whole process what it is you’re making. Next thing you know, you’ll forget and think it’s something else, and we’ll have a Frankenstein creation on our hands, and I’m not touching anything like that.”

“Well, I _was_ hoping to surprise you with it, but I’m making you a cake, my love,” John said. “Chocolate layer cake.”

“It ain’t my birthday.”

“Didn’t say it was,” John said. “Making it just ‘cause I love you.”

He pulled Fin in for a kiss. Fin broke it after several moments of highly enjoyable kissing and said, “Shouldn’t you be paying attention to what’s on the stove?”

“Probably,” John said. “Stop tempting me then so much, oh siren.”

Fin tapped John’s nose playfully and took a drink. “Why’s the whiskey out, anyway?”

“Putting some in the batter,” John answered. “Gimme that.” He took another long drink, coughing as it burned his throat. “Whoo,” he said, shaking his head. 

“We gonna have enough _left_ for the batter?” Fin asked, taking another drink.

John hefted the bottle and peered into it. “Uh, probably not,” he said. “Might as well have another drink, then.”

Fin puttered around the kitchen, chatting with John as John put the cake batter together. John poured it into their cake pans – they _had_ cake pans, apparently, something Fin hadn’t known – and put it into the oven.

“Wanna taste?” he asked, running his finger along the bowl and offering it to Fin.

Fin immediately sucked the finger into his mouth, tasting the rich chocolate and John. “Mmmm,” he moaned. “Yummy.”

He offered some to John, who accepted eagerly. “You’re right,” John purred. “But I want you now, instead.”

He pulled Fin close, into another, very boozy kiss. “The cake’s gotta bake for an hour, we’ve got time,” he said. “Take me to bed.”

*** 

They had fallen asleep after an enthusiastic round of very drunken sex. John woke up suddenly to the smell of smoke and shook Fin awake. “Fin, you smell that?” he asked.

Fin groaned and rolled over. “No,” he said. “Wait. Yes.” He sat up in a bolt. “Fuck, that’s smoke.”

“ _The cake_!” both of them said at once, jumping out of bed and rushing towards the kitchen. 

“ _Shit motherfucker_!” Fin swore as he saw the flames. The oven was engulfed in flames and it was spreading. 

“Where’s the fire extinguisher?” he demanded.

“I keep it next to the stove!” John cried. “In case of a cooking fire!”

“Calling 911!” Fin screamed, running for the phone. He was still appreciably drunk and the running was accompanied by quite a bit of stumbling.

John followed him.

The fire department was there within minutes, and only the kitchen was affected. John looked at their burnt stove and counters and said, “You know, my love, I’ve been meaning to remodel our kitchen for ages now, anyway.”

Fin gave John a stern look. “You can try to spin this as positively as you want, you ain’t ever cooking and drinking again, and that’s final. Besides, now I don’t get my cake.”

“Mmm, replace my stove and I’ll bake you one again,” John promised, pulling Fin close.

“I’m hiding the fucking whiskey first,” Fin vowed. “I want that cake, and I ain’t calling the fire department again.”

“Picky, picky,” John teased, pressing a kiss to Fin’s lips.


End file.
